


Dratchetparty 2020

by CinnamonnyBunny



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: "Candy" in the loosest sense of the word, Aftermath of Violence, Ambulon Lives (Transformers), Awkwardness, Ceremonial Painting, Chronic Illness, Conjunx Endura, Domestic Fluff, Dratchetparty 2020 (Transformers), Edible Body Paint, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hidden meanings, Implied/Referenced Sex, Knot kink, Knotting, M/M, Marriage Rituals, Medical Conditions, Morning Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Robot blood, Sexual Interfacing, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Tags May Change, Worry, duplicate lost light, post-eos, there's only one bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:28:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23073211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CinnamonnyBunny/pseuds/CinnamonnyBunny
Summary: A series of short Dratchet fics written in response toDratchetParty's prompts for this week.
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Ratchet
Comments: 5
Kudos: 122





	1. March 8 - Hotel

It was the first mech friendly world they’d seen since they had escaped. They were both exhausted, Drift moreso than Ratchet, and and the promise of recharging and refueling in a clean room with more spacious, comfortable berths, not to mention the prospect of washracks and uninterrupted rest, was too good to pass up. So it was that the pair stumbled into a decently sized hotel near the middle of the “mech only” area of the planet they’d stumbled upon, and the receptionist - a kindly mini Ratchet noted eyed his badge, and Drift’s lack of one, with unease despite her pleasant demeanor - dutifully booked them into the only room left available.

It was a big enough room for both of them to move about comfortably in, of course. They were not terribly cramped, and the washrack even had enough space to fit Ratchet’s broad shoulders. The issue was that there was only one berth, and while it could comfortably fit two mecha, this was proving to be something of an issue.

Odd, of course, the more Ratchet thought about it. They hadn’t had an issue in the small, cramped shuttle. True enough that they had spent far more time in that berth enjoying other, more pleasurable pursuits, mostly burning off the fits of energy and lingering anxiety they both felt between finding one another and the battle that followed… when they had used it for its intended purpose, it had been in shifts. One recharging, then the other, and so on.

Sighing faintly, he glanced over at Drift, watching as the speedster moved methodically through the place, checking everywhere it could be possible for a trap - or a mech of some size - could fit. Despite the weeks it had been since that fateful encounter, he still maintained the wariness he’d learned in a hard life in the streets of Rodion. He supposed such things never really left, once they were learned. As he did this, Ratchet moved to a built-in energon dispenser on the wall, examining it himself in a way only a medic truly could.  
It wasn’t long before he noticed Drift slipping up to stand just behind him at his side, optics dim from exhaustion. “Coast is clear.”

“I should hope so; this place is pretty remote. It’s a nice room, though. We can clean up, get some recharge… I saw a clinic a few blocks down, too. Maybe I know the medic. We could get repairs done, considering how shoddy we both look.” He offered a gentle smile. “Though if I’m being perfectly honest, it’s the recharge I’m looking forward to the most.”

Drift offered him a wan smile, and his attention turned as Ratchet’s did to the single berth sitting on the opposite side of the room. Then as now, it posed the same problem: they had never actually recharged together outside of the exhaustion that followed their initial interfacing in the days that followed their escape. It wasn’t even that they hadn’t enjoyed themselves, necessarily: the issue lay more in the fact that neither was wholly sure if the other was truly looking for some sort of commitment, or if their lovemaking had been born out of a genuine relief at seeing the other hale and whole.

He didn’t say anything just yet. He simply pulled two cubes of energon and handed one to Drift before walking over to the berth, sitting on the edge before looking up at the speedster, who swallowed hard as he tried not to match the medic’s optics. It was, however, he who broke the silence first. “So. This was the only room available…?”

Ratchet nodded. “It was. I… didn’t think it would be too much of an issue, considering that we’ve shared a berth before.”

“We have.” The two words were a statement, noncommittal, though spoken with some undercurrent that Ratchet couldn’t quite identify. He hoped it was fondness. “Never… never really to recharge, though. Just for… other things.”

Not that Ratchet could have forgotten if he tried, but he supposed he understood the younger mech’s apprehension. Sighing, he took the opportunity to drink down the rest of his energon with little hesitation, his optics dimming. At first, neither spoke, but then Ratchet set aside the emptied cube and stood again. He felt restless, and dwelling too much on this wasn’t helping matters any. “...well, we’ll sort it out. We can call for a cot, or push that couch over. The plugs should reach just fine. In the meantime, I’m going to take a run through the washrack. Then you can, and we’ll figure it out from there. All right?”

Drift hesitated at first, but then he nodded, collecting Ratchet’s cube before sitting down to work on his own. The standoff would have to wait.

* * *

It wasn’t until after both of them had the chance to clean up that the topic of how they were going to manage the berth came up again. Ratchet had seated himself quietly, and he was watching as Drift moved, anxiously peering out the single window for a moment before settling himself on the berth next to the medic. In the silence that followed, Ratchet let a weary smile cross his face, and he laughed, glancing up at him. “...you know, it’s funny. We barely had any trouble with this the first week or so, but now that we’ve had a chance to distance ourselves from everything that happened… it’s like we can’t look one another in the optic.”

“I just…” Drift paused, gazing at the opposite wall for a few moments before looking back to the medic. “I don’t know why this is so hard. I was sure everything was mutual, wasn’t it…?”

“Of course it was. I haven’t had “just for fun” interface in centuries, and I went looking for you. Not just because I wanted you to come home, not just because I felt like you’d been treated unfairly- though both of those were part of it. I wanted to find you because of exactly what I said that first night: I never got the chance to tell you how I felt about you.”

Drift was watching him closely now, the paler circles of light behind the transparasteel panes shifting and focusing. Finally, he sat back. “...you weren’t lying, then. About… wanting to be with me.”

Taken aback by the statement, Ratchet turned fully to face the younger mech, reaching out to grab his hand on instinct. “Lying- what in the world? Why would I lie about something like that? I realized too late that I cared about you. I came looking for you, hoping to find you, so I could tell you. And I did. I have. You’re here, we’re both here, and you thought that all that… oh, Drift. This isn’t about anything except me wanting you, for you. If you’re not okay with that, that’s fine, but you have to- you need to tell me.”

The speedster’s audial flares twitched, and he glanced down at the scuffed red hand holding his own. “...I just… didn’t think someone like you…”

“What? An ill-tempered, old as dirt medic liking a charming, genuinely funny, well-mannered young speedster? Perish the thought.” He tightened his grip slightly when Drift snorted, still smiling. “I’m teasing, you know. But both of us have our vices, and skeletons in our closet. That doesn’t matter to me. What matters to me is right here, right now. If you don’t want to share this berth with me, that’s fine. I’m not going to force you. But those nights the first couple of weeks… I wasn’t unhappy. That’s right where I wanted to be.”

For a moment, Drift seemed to consider what he said. He turned Ratchet’s hand in his own, using the free one to trace the scuffs and scratches. And then he curled his fingers around it, optics dimming. “No, I… yeah. I want you to be here too.” Finally, a smile found its way to his face, and he gave a short laugh. “This’ll be the first time we’ve literally slept together. How scandalous.”

The mood seemed to lighten, and Ratchet allowed himself a grin, squeezing the hand in his. He didn’t have much else to say… he simply moved forward, slightly, climbing up onto the berth before tugging Drift after him, and shifting so that they were both on their sides. Ratchet couldn’t resist letting his hand trail to his companion’s hip. This felt right… comfortable. They had both been burned in their past, but being able to find this quiet moment…

He sighed deeply, resting their forehelms together as Drift allowed himself to scoot a little closer. Slowly, he let his optics power off, enjoying the feeling of energy flowing into him from the berth plug and the press of Drift’s body against his. They would have a lot to work through… he knew that. Just lying here together, in a tiny safe haven, the last room in a booked hotel in a little oasis of peace… it was a start.


	2. March 9 - Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A preparation for a ceremony, and a special meaning to a glimmering shade.

“Is this really necessary, Drift?”

Ratchet didn’t sound angry, at least, but he was having a hard time keeping still as he felt the airbrush pass over more sensitive parts of his frame, like his hands and chevron. His optics were off, letting Drift do his work. A public ceremony wasn’t as important to him, but Drift was very keen on it: a new world like this called for something big and wonderful happening to start them off. That something wonderful was apparently a formal conjunx ceremony.

The way Drift had lit up at the prospect, with that dazzling smile that brightened his whole face, Ratchet found it very hard to say no to him. So hard, in fact, that he’d caved fairly quickly. And that’s how he found himself sitting on their shared berth with Drift on a chair in front of him, painting delicate patterns onto him in gleaming, reflective gold.

He hadn’t complained. Not really, at any rate. He had grumbled a bit, but in the end, he had acquiesced. Drift had been clearly delighted to see this, and he’d immediately set himself to work. The longer Ratchet sat there, the twitchier he felt, but he did his best to remain as still as he could. The work on his hands had been the worst, even with the sensitivity turned all the way down, but now he was doing his work on his helm.

“Of course it’s necessary,” he was saying, tone fond. “Gold is very important in spectralism. Otherwise I wouldn’t be doing this.”

Ratchet would’ve rolled his optics if they were still powered on, but he didn’t move. He shifted his head to one side slightly as Drift used his thumb to clean up some paint that had splattered. “So you keep saying,” he sighed, wrinkling up his nose slightly. “I don’t pay much attention to these things, Drift, you know that. I’m happy to do this for you, but I don’t really get why you’re so insistent on gold paint.”

He didn’t get a response at first. Drift seemed set on concentrating as he worked through the process of delicately working through the remaining patterns. But after some time, he started to speak, brushing his thumb across the medic’s bottom lip. “You’re a medic. You know that gold is an excellent conductor. It doesn’t corrode like other metals.” The airbrush moved gently across Ratchet’s helm, leaving delicate patterns in its wake. “That makes gold particularly symbolic. It represents communication, and connection. Not letting your communication break down. When paired with the rituals of a conjunx ceremony, it means so much more than that. It’s a bond that can’t be broken. A connection that will always remain between you and your partner. An incorruptible thread between two mecha.”

The old medic was speechless when Drift fell silent, and his optics powered on to look at him. Drift looked so serene, a faint smile on his face, expression gentle. When he caught Ratchet looking at him, he ducked his head, and the medic couldn’t help but smile a bit himself. “Well. I hadn’t really thought of it that way, but I guess you do have a point.” Ignoring the speedster’s protests, he leaned in to sneak a kiss, humming quietly when he didn’t pull away, instead pressing into it. Ratchet was loath to pull away. “I still think it’s kind of silly. But this is clearly very important to you, so I suppose I can’t complain.”

Drift grinned faintly, stealing another kiss of his own before getting back to work. His optics were bright, and while Ratchet didn’t put much stock in reading the color of one’s optics or the shimmer of his “aura,” he could tell without any of those hints that he was thrilled. “Of course you can’t. You’re in this for the long haul, or you wouldn’t have said yes to bonding with me.”

Ratchet couldn’t help but laugh, and as soon as Drift sat aside his airbrush, the medic caught his face between his hands, pulling him in for a deep kiss, rumbling his engine in his chest. Fortunate for both of them that the gold of his hands had dried, or the speedster would have certainly had handprints. Not that he would have cared, but he knew it would’ve been disappointing for Drift.

Softly humming, Drift nipped at Ratchet’s lip plating, dragging his fangs along it before leaning back, smiling up at him as the medic spoke. “And I wouldn’t change that. Not for all the paint you could possibly splash onto my old frame. I love you, you know. Always will.”

“Mm. I love you too.” He turned his head to kiss Ratchet’s palm, then leaned back to admire his handiwork. The way the gold patterns on his hands, chestplate, helm, and chevron shimmered in the overhead lighting. And then he grinned, picking up the airbrush to hold out to Ratchet. “And because you love me… it’s your turn to do me.”

Ratchet couldn’t hold back a snort. “You’re lucky I’m being good,” he pointed out, “Or I could take that very differently. But we have a ceremony to get to… and all meanings aside, I’m very keen on seeing how you look painted in gold.”


	3. March 10 - Candy (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drift and Ratchet take some time to enjoy a present Rodimus gave them for their ceremony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't realize until tonight that a whole part of the chapter had somehow gotten deleted from my gdoc before I even posted it, and I had to rewrite it.

Public conjunx ceremonies often had some typical side effects, most of those being unusual gifts. Ratchet and Drift had expected that. What they hadn’t expected was the sheer volume of items given to them as congratulations on their new life together. At the moment, Ratchet was lounging against Drift, puzzling over a small jar that had been in a box from Rodimus.

“What is this?” he inquired, squinting for a moment. “Ingredients read it as some sort of spreadable candy…”

From where he was reclining, admiring a bottle of finely processed sweet mid-grade gifted from Cyclonus and Tailgate, Drift blinked, turning his head to look at what his conjunx was holding. “Wait, what? Spreadable candy? That sounds… Ratty, here, let me see-”

Ratchet snorted, holding the jar to one side for a better look at the label. And then… then he started laughing. “I can’t believe him. Do you see- here, Drift, take a look. It’s not candy at all. It’s edible body paint. Did he think our sex life was that boring that he needed to get us something like this to spice it up?”

He could feel Drift’s field heat up, though he couldn’t tell whether or not it was from embarrassment. “Oh he can’t be that big of a dummy. I’m sure it’s just a gag gift.”

“Only thing in the box, so pretty straight forward for a gag gift.” He was still grinning, and he lifted his free hand to pop open the lid and dip a finger inside. “Oh, this is the good stuff, too. It’s got kind of a warming effect.”

Now the heat in Drift’s field was doubled, and it was easier to tell the edges of embarrassment from interest. “Have you used this stuff before?”

Ratchet just shrugged. “A few times. It was hard to come by during the war, but when I was in med school? Absolutely.” With the sort of shamelessness Drift had scarcely seen even with those that would pay for it, the old medic slid his finger into his mouth to taste the concoction he’d dipped it into in the first place. After making a thoughtful sound, he withdrew his finger and ran his glossa over his lips. “Oh that’s actually really good.”

Drift flushed now, but he did shift a little as his conjunx sat up. He wanted to ask what he was up to, but before he could, Ratchet was pushing him back to lay on the berth, scattering boxes where he could and setting aside anything breakable. “Ratty…?”

“It’s a thoughtful gift.” His voice was low and rumbling, and it sent a thrill right down Drift’s spinal relay. “I think we should enjoy it, don’t you…?”

He didn’t give his lover time to answer. He dipped some of the paint onto his fingertips, brushing it over the speedster’s lips. Lazy patterns painted down his neck and chestplate, across his abdomen, and in maddening patterns along the seams of his interface array. For all he teased about his age, Ratchet still very much knew what he was doing. And when he was done, he sat the jar aside, never too far out of reach.

It started with a kiss. That sinful glossa running along his lip plating, and when Drift’s lips parted, Ratchet caught him in a crushing kiss, suckling and nipping at his lips before sweeping in with his glossa again, rumbling appreciatively at the barely contained whimpers coming from the speedster beneath him. His fans were already running hard when he pulled away, grinning wickedly, and he bumped their noses together softly as Drift breathlessly inquired, “Enjoying yourself?”

Ratchet chuckled, letting his voice rumble out as he began to move his way up the patterns on Drift’s audial flares. “I am. But it’s going to be fun for you too… I want you to use your mod tonight. But not before a little fun.”

Drift’s engine snarled, and Ratchet just grinned. Lips and glossa trailed over the patterns he’d painted, up his flares and down his chestplate, all the way down to his array… and by the time his modesty plating had transformed back, he was clearly just as ready as the medic was, as his own paneling had transformed back while he was still working his way down his conjunx’s frame. Drift’s spike was pressurized, biolights pulsing as the taut metal mesh twitched. At its base… exactly what he looked forward to taking as deep as he could.

The first time he’d seen it had been on that tiny shuttle, fleeing the planet with the stone soldiers, the first time they had slept together. He couldn’t call that making love, he supposed… it had been desperate, a need for each other’s bodies, and while he’d seen Drift’s apprehension at showing the unusual modification, Ratchet had been curious. It wasn’t a mod that people got in high society, where he had spent most of his time.

The first time he felt it had been on that same shuttle, after he’d fragged Drift over and over again until neither of them could see straight. It was a few nights later, and he’d confided in Drift that he’d wanted to feel his spike. Apprehensive though he may’ve been, Drift enthusiastically agreed after they’d fooled around for a bit, and Ratchet discovered that he liked being tied to the speedster far more than he’d have ever thought.

Today, he was more than eager to take it again.

Reaching over to the jar again, he got enough out to coat his palm and then began to stroke Drift’s length, keeping his weight across his legs to keep him from bucking up too hard. Once he felt he’d sufficiently covered the younger mech’s spike with the paint, he leaned in and - in one downward stroke - took the entire length into his mouth.

Ratchet’s ability to take him completely like that never ceased to amaze Drift, when he considered it after the fact. He couldn’t get past the knot, though he’d tried more than a few times, but that didn’t really matter to him in the grand scheme of things. Feeling the way Ratchet’s glossa slid over the ridges of his spike, gently pulling off and bobbing his head down again as though he was enjoying a coolant pop instead of the warming sweet paint currently making his spike feel ready to burst at any moment…

His hips jerked up, and he felt Ratchet’s engine rumble. Between the warm, familiar heat of the medic’s intakes and the tingling, warming effect of the body paint, he wasn’t going to last long enough to really enjoy the next part of the game. A shaky grin slid across his face as Ratchet’s head lifted, glossa slowly twirling around the head of his spike. “Hey- hey Ratty- that stuff safe for internal use…?”

He felt the medic make some kind of sound more than he heard it, and the next thing he knew Ratchet had lifted his head and started to crawl up his body. And as soon as he was in position, Drift moved. His weight shifted in a long practiced movement, flipping them both so that a startled Ratchet lay beneath him, staring up for a few moments before he started to laugh. “Clever.”

“Mmh.” One hand trailed down to slide around the edges of Ratchet’s valve, purring when he shuddered, checking his readiness. “You got me all hot and bothered, Ratty. I just wanna return the favor.”

Ratchet shuddered again when Drift slid two fingers into him effortlessly, rocking his hips upward. “Then I suppose you’d better get to work.”

Grinning wide enough to show his fangs, Drift reached down to hook his knees under Ratchet’s legs to angle up his hips, and after a few passes to slide the underside of his spike along the medic’s soaked valve and anterior node, he sank himself, slow and deep, into that wonderful heat. For a moment, he didn’t move, enjoying the way Ratchet cried out when he entered him, the way he squirmed and arched his back to try to take that last thick swell at the base of Drift’s spike. He wanted to savor it, for just a moment.

But when Ratchet rolled his hips against him, he could no longer keep still. Tightening his grip on the medic’s legs, he began to thrust into him, hard and fast. Most days he might have taken his time… but the tingling sensation left by the warming body paint remained with him, and it was heightening every sensation as his ridged spike drew out of and slammed back into Ratchet’s valve. He would have wondered if the medic could feel it too, but judging by the thick waves of lust rolling through his field and the way he moaned and cried out breathlessly with each thrust, the head of Drift’s spike brushing his ceiling node… it was a safe bet he might’ve been.

Optics hazed with his own lust, Drift watched Ratchet’s face. His conjunx. His. His engine growled, and he could feel how the calipers in the medic’s valve rippled and clenched against him. Shifting slightly, he changed the angle of his thrusts, and Ratchet’s body arched beneath him, crying out loudly as he writhed beneath the swordsmech. Each thrust pressed the knot at the base of his spike harder and harder against the rim of the medic’s valve. Ratchet was awash in lust, optics rolled back and paled out, as Drift growled again, possessive, proud.

Stilling Ratchet with his hands, claws pricking at his plating, he slammed in once. Twice. And on the third time his knot finally entered the medic’s valve with a lewd sound. The head of his spike pressed hard against Ratchet’s ceiling node as he was tied, and a moment later, Ratchet was gripped by a powerful overload, his whole frame arching upwards as he ground his hips as much as he could against Drift. The speedster snarled his engine loudly, and the clenching of Ratchet’s calipers around him, pressed wide by the knot mod on his spike, tipped him over at last as well.

It was several long moments before either of them could find words, and still tied together as they were, Drift rumbled, gently arranging the both of them. His spike continued to twitch now and then as his transfluid continued to pump into his conjunx’s chamber, sending little aftershocks through the medic. Ratchet, slowly coming back to his senses, gave a soft, shaky laugh as he shuddered. “So. Think we… need to thank Rodimus for the “candy?””

“Later,” Drift purred, rocking his hips faintly. “Let’s check that brand, though… that’s the sort of candy I’d definitely be down to try again.”


	4. March 11 - Hearts Resolved and Hands Prepared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The future is scary, but they can easily handle it if they face it together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided this would be part of my [Falling Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22837948/chapters/54582625) series on a whim.

Drift was anxious. That was no surprise, of course. Following Ratchet’s diagnosis, and their brief spat, they’d spent a lot of time talking about their options. Drift had wanted a less aggressive treatment regimen, but Ratchet was having none of it. The more aggressively they went after this, the less treatment they had to deal with in the long run.

His spark was slowly dying; he knew that. He knew that without treatment, there was no stopping that. If he wanted to have a long, happy life, he had to do something to prevent the deterioration from progressing or getting worse. So that left him here, staring months of aggressive treatments and years of medications and check-ups after. It meant he could live. With his friends… with Drift.

Not that he was looking forward to it at all. He was pacing back and forth through their hab while Drift watched him, flexing his hands, shoulders tightened forward. When he’d been told he would need to go through these treatments, he had seemed so confident, but the closer the first treatments became, the more anxious he became. It wasn’t long before Drift stood, walking over to take his hands, his presence in front of him stopping his pacing.

“Hey,” he murmured, resting their forehelms together. “You okay?”

Ratchet shrugged, leaning forward into Drift’s presence. “Okay as I could be, considering what’s happened. I’ve been working in medicine my entire life, and I’m- Drift, I’m terrified. You diagnose plenty of people in a career like this, watch them deal with this exact same thing… but then when it’s you it’s impossible to feel okay with it. Age-related spark burnout kills mecha. I got used to quietly telling people what was going on with them, but now…”

The speedster hummed softly, pulling Ratchet closer before putting his arms around his neck. “But now it’s you. Now you’re actually happy, and you’re safe. You have a life you’ve always wanted. And now you’re risking that.” He kissed the tip of the medic’s nose. “It’s okay to be scared, you know. Even the great Ratchet of Vaporex has things that scare him, and that’s okay. We talked about this, right? I know in my spark, same as you do, that this is going to work out. You’ll be fine.”

“I like to think you’re right.” He pressed his hands against the sides of Drift’s face, rubbing his thumbs against the crimson streaks painted there. He didn’t think he was ready, but Drift… Drift was so sure. And if he trusted no one else, he trusted his beloved conjunx. “You’re so optimistic about this. Wish I had your confidence.”

Laughing, Drift rubbed their forehelms together. “I can’t believe you, of all people, are trying to tell me that you’re not confident.” His grin didn’t fade, fangs showing as Ratchet ducked his head, laughing himself. “You’re the most confident mech I know! I know it’s weird since now you’re the one going under the knife, so to speak, but… well. You have me here.”

Smiling still, he took a few steps back, mostly so he could take Ratchet’s hands in his own, rubbing his thumbs over the backs. Ratchet hummed, letting his shoulders relax. “I love you so much, you know. You’re so good to me.” He leaned in to kiss this conjunx, their lips molding against each other’s comfortably. And when he pulled back, he gave a soft sigh. “I guess I can get through all of this.”

“You can. You’ve saved so many lives… now it’s your turn to be taken care of. And you’ll have me the whole time. After every treatment, every time, I’ll be right there with you. If you don’t feel like you can do it… then I’ll hold your hands as long as you need me to. You’re going to be just fine. My hands may not be as talented as yours… maybe they’re only good at killing. But they’re prepared to hold you until this is over. As long as it takes.”

Ratchet’s browridge furrowed at that, and he tugged Drift closer again, kissing his hands. “These hands aren’t just good at killing. They’re good at painting, and at holding things they care about. I love you, you know. I’ve known that for a long time. I know this is going to be hard for you too… so we’ll carry each other, as long as we need to. We’re going to be just fine.”


	5. March 12 - Sleepiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet finds a surprise when he comes home after a long shift.

It hadn’t taken long after Ratchet was cleared from the last of his treatments for him to get back to work. He was at his best when he was working, and despite the fact that he told Drift one long night after a particularly rough round of therapy that he did not regret being taken off the roster during, it was clear he was happy to be able to get back into the swing of things. Tonight, though, he’d been called in to help with a surgery. While it wasn’t anything ultimately life-threatening to the patient, it was something that took much longer than the old medic would have liked to complete.

He’d made sure to tell Drift before he left to get some rest. Lay down, recharge. He would settle with him when he got home. And he was looking forward to it. Trudging home after a long shift in the medbay to pull Drift’s back up against his chestplate and feel the soft rumbling of his engine before drifting into recharge was among his favorite ways to spend a night. It was a nice mantra to help him through the surgery when the medbay was otherwise quiet, save for calls for tools or suction or clamps. When they were done, he could all but feel Ambulon’s cheeky smile levered his way, and he gave a roll of his optics.

As if he wasn’t grinning too.

“And just what are you grinning about, young mech?” he queried, tipping his head towards the younger medic.

“Oh nothing.” Ambulon’s smile didn’t fade, and Ratchet could hear First Aid snickering near him. “Don’t think we didn’t notice that dreamy look on your face, though. The notorious hardass Ratchet… going soft.”

Ratchet snorted at that, flicking his fingers at both of his juniors before wiping off his hands. “I’m not going soft. I just discovered the benefits of being happily married.”

The others giggled, but that was the last thing on Ratchet's mind as they started to piece everything together, taking shifts in the washrack as the shift wound down. They made idle, pleasant conversation through the remainder of the time he was there, and once they’d finished cleaning, he said his usual farewells (noting the teasing) and made his way towards his hab. He was looking forward to the warmth of his berth, and the warmth of Drift’s frame, but when he opened his door to peer inside, he was a bit surprised by what he found.

The lights were not dimmed, and while he could smell the incense from the altar where Drift’s swords rested, it had only just recently been lit. As for the speedster himself, he was laying on his back sideways across their shared berth, head hanging off the side closest to the door… and he was grinning. “Hi Ratty~! Welcome home~!”

“Hi yourself,” the medic replied, walking over to sit on the berth next to him. Drift didn’t really move so much as he turned his head to smile fondly up at him. “You had a double shift, sweetspark; shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

Drift just hummed, gentle and melodic, as he rolled his shoulders in a faint shrug. “I wanted to wait for you to get home. If I was very asleep I wouldn’t know, and then I wouldn’t be able to hug you.”

It was all Ratchet could do not to let a brilliant grin blossom onto his face. “You’d be able to hug me even if I came home and you were dead asleep, you heat leech.”

Sniffing indignantly, Drift rolled to his side, languidly lifting himself off the berth like a lazy cat. While Ratchet did enjoy the view, the slight wobble showed him just how exhausted his speedster was. “I am not a heat leech. And I’m not that sleepy.” Shifting a bit, he plunked down onto his aft, stretching his arms over his head before leaning over to wrap them around Ratchet’s neck, a sleepy smile curling up the corners of his lips. “Hi.”

Ratchet couldn’t hold back the laugh that time. “You already said hi.”

“So? I can say hi again.” He tried for a kiss to Ratchet’s nose, but missed and caught his cheek instead, just under his optic. “You moved your head.”

“I didn’t.” Reaching over, he scooped Drift into his arms and stood, moving so he could lay him down, get the cabling situated, then plugged himself in and laid down as well, pulling the speedster flush against his chestplate. At the very least, Drift didn’t struggle. He just shifted, tangling his legs with Ratchet’s as he fought to get comfortable.“You’re just very sleepy.”

Rumbling his engine, Drift tucked his head up beneath Ratchet’s chin as best he could with his audial flares in the way. Ratchet could tell his systems were already starting to power down, but he was fighting it, trying to stay awake as he pressed drowsy kisses wherever he could reach. “M’not that sleepy. Happy to see you.”

Ratchet grinned, optics dimming as he rubbed his hands in soothing circles against Drift’s plating. “You can be happy to see me in the morning, liar. Get some recharge.”

He felt Drift huff, but there was no retort from him. He let out a gentle sigh, his weary frame sagging against Ratchet’s as his systems kicked over into recharge. Gently, fondly, the old medic gave him a soft squeeze before giving the verbal command for the lights to dim, his own exhaustion dipping him into recharge not long after, legs entwined with Drift’s with his arms still holding him gently.

It was the perfect way to fall asleep.


	6. March 13 - Broken and Bleeding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet gets defensive. Drift would rather he didn't.

“I cannot believe you, Ratchet!”

The admonishment lacked any real heat, and despite the pain, Ratchet couldn’t help but grin. Regret was something practiced when a foolish measure was taken, and he genuinely felt no remorse for the situation as it stood just then. He’d said his piece, and that he was in this situation now was worth it.

“I did what I had to. That’s all- ow! Damn it, that hurts-”

Drift made a frustrated, anxious sound, his fingers gently prodding around the injury. “It wouldn’t hurt so much if you’d stop flinching. You’re a doctor! Don’t you know how to hold still when an injury’s being treated?”

The medic sniffed, rolling his optics even as he winced at another gentle prod to the injured mesh. He was definitely bleeding, that much was certain, but the full extent of the damage would be hard to determine without a trip to the medbay. “It isn’t even that severe, Drift- you’re just fussing. I’m sure it’s fine.”

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s broken.” His fingers pressed again at Ratchet’s noseridge, the free hand mopping up some of the mech fluid that was running down his face. “Honestly, Ratchet, why did you do that? There was no need to jump into that argument. It’s no worse than I’ve been called before.”

Immediately, Ratchet’s browridge furrowed, and his jaw clenched tightly as Drift leaned back and away from him. “They’ve lived on this same damn ship with you for years, Drift. They all know that what happened wasn’t your fault, and that you took the fall to protect your best friend. The fact that they’re stooping so low as calling you shareware of all things-”

Drift cut him off, resting two fingers against the old medics lip plating before wiping away a fresh rivulet of mech fluid. “I’ve been called worse. A lot worse. Some people will always hate me, Ratchet- that’s fine. I’ve done terrible things. Me trying to do better doesn’t change that I’ve put a lot of people through hell, and they have every right to be uncertain about dealing with me. And downright hostile, if it makes them feel better.”

Though Ratchet was still frustrated, he knew Drift had at least somewhat of a point. In his time as Deadlock, he’d been notoriously violent, leaving an impressive trail of bloodshed in his wake. Ratchet had never looked the other way about it, but he knew Drift sometimes still fretted over his past and how the crew viewed him.

All the same, however, Drift was his conjunx. He loved him, dearly, and wanted to see him treated with the same respect as everyone else aboard the Lost Light, even if that wasn’t always possible. “...their not liking you doesn’t make that sort of behavior okay. I’m sorry, Drift, it just doesn’t. Crankshaft and Gearcase can just learn to deal with it; you’re not going to leave this ship anytime soon-”

“Be shoosh.” Drift flicked his forehead gently, then reached up to brace his fingers gently on either side of Ratchet’s nasal bridge. “This is going to hurt, okay?”

Ratchet, for what it was worth, had already braced himself. “Yeah, I sorta figured.” He clenched his jaw tighter, and he barely let out a grunt as those practiced hands snapped the misaligned structure back into place as gently as he could manage, hissing out a low vent from his just fanned plating. “Gives my nose more character, I think.”

Frowning a bit, the swordsmech set to cleaning up the remaining mech fluid, and he offered Ratchet a rag to hold against his nose until the bleeding fully stopped. “Your nose has plenty of character without you getting it broken walking over to tell a mech three times your size to… how did you put it? “Shut up before you surgically moved his mouth to his aft port?””

“I’d have done it, too!” came the sharp retort, and he grumbled when Drift gave him a long look. “You can’t let people walk all over you, Drift.”

“I wasn’t, for your information. I’ve learned how to pick my battles a lot more carefully.”

“Well, I was mad as hell and I picked that one.”

Drift let out a long sigh and shook his head, grabbing all the soiled rags to carry them over to the machine in the wall. Swapping them out for clean ones, he made his way back, a soft frown on his face. “They have a right to be angry. I mean- to be fair, Gearcase looked like he was really horrified for having punched you of all people, but that’s not really going to stop them from saying things. I promise I don’t need the extra protection.”

Watching his conjunx quietly, Ratchet frowned, lowering the cloth from his face before reaching up to take Drift’s hand. “Maybe not, but you’re my conjunx. I can’t help it if I get a little defensive.”

“Next time you get defensive, Ratty, then just drag me in for a kiss.” He let a wicked grin cross his face. “Guarantee that’d shut them up in a hurry. Hard to be angry when someone three booths away is having a wild make-out session.”

“If I wanted my glossa down your throat I’d just do that at home. So maybe next time, I’ll just scoop you up and come back here instead.”

“You know, Ratty? Considering the alternative, I’ll gladly take that outcome.”


	7. March 14 - Free Space ("Morning") NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I considered something sad for today, but decided... let's end on a high note. Ratchet and Drift share a lazy bit of morning fun.

Mornings where neither one of them had shift were a blessing. Ratchet enjoyed the ability to wake up lazy and slow, feeling Drift’s lithe frame pressed against his, feel the rumble of his engine that occasionally sent a little rattle through the transparasteel of his chestplate. He relished the closeness and the affection, and he often found himself wishing they could simply stay like this forever.

Of course, they both had duties to fulfill. Drift was still third in command of the Lost Light’s command structure, and Ratchet - while retired as chief medic - still served as a physician alongside the others. In the little moments like these, however, he could ignore that. Drift nestled up ever closer, stretching faintly before one of his hands fell on the old medic’s hips, the tips of his claws gently massaging the delicate transformation seams he found there.

Whether or not Drift was even awake was questionable. He was pressed comfortably against the old medic, his engine giving drowsy little rumbles, but the way his hand was moving was unmistakable. Ratchet smiled fondly, moving one of his hands to cover Drift’s. “You awake?”

“Mmh,” came the initial response, low and drowsy. “No.”

“No? You sound pretty awake.”

“Sleep talking.”

Ratchet was grinning broadly now. “And that hand on my hip?”

Drift rumbled his engine gently. “Sleep groping.”

That got a laugh out of the medic as Drift chuckled against his neck, pressing a kiss to his jaw before pulling back with a drowsy smile. Ratchet hummed and bumped their forehelms together, releasing Drift’s hand at his hip to instead shift back slightly, reaching down to rub his thigh. “Sleep groping, huh? I suppose I could buy that, if you weren’t grinning like a loon.” He laughed when Drift did, smiling. “You know, I think I know a good way to wake you up. We were both so tired last night I didn’t have a chance to give you a proper welcome home…”

The low rumble of Ratchet’s sent a faint shiver up Drift’s spinal relay, and he rolled over onto his back, slipping his hand away from the older mech’s hip to instead cup his face and pull him down, lifting his head to cross part of the distance into a soft, affectionate kiss.

Their usual fire wasn’t there, though all the affection was. Ratchet moved to his hands and knees as Drift wrapped his arms around his neck, mostly to avoid breaking the kiss. It took some maneuvering, but eventually they wound up with the medic sitting back against the wall, Drift straddling his hips, and they had yet to break their warm kiss for more than a few seconds to adjust. Then, it was right back to it, Ratchet’s practiced hands trailing down Drift’s sides, pinching at sensor clusters and rubbing patterns over delicate transformation seams.

Drift was giving as good as he was getting, his fingers digging into the wheel wells on the back of Ratchet’s shoulders before finding their way down his thick frame, slipping into spaces in his plating, especially around his chestplate, where many sensitive sensor relays rested.

There was no rush. No hurry to chase an overload in the morning before a shift, or an evening when they were separated by the time they were scheduled. Everything was soft, slow, deliberate, and gentle. When Drift’s lips parted to allow Ratchet’s glossa to sweep inside, the movements were almost lazy, and they both let out soft, rumbling moans as their frames shuddered.

Eventually, one of Ratchet’s hands found its way down to Drift’s panel, finally breaking their kiss to instead lean back, free hand caressing the side of his conjunx’s face as he watched him with a soft, adoring expression. “I love how you look when you’re like this. That smile… all for me. Damn, you are beautiful.”

“Mmh, you’re pretty damn handsome yourself, Ratty~...” Drift purred in response, rolling his hips into the gentle caress on his panel. “I lucked out with you.”

Ratchet chuckled, gently pressing his fingers along the transformation seams on the modesty plating. “So you always say. Here we go, sweetspark, come on… open up for me.”

Drift’s panel folding back was almost immediate, and Ratchet groaned as he felt the wet heat from his valve against his palm. The speedster smiled at him, noting his expression. “Seems you’re happy with what you’re finding down there…”

“I’m always happy with what I find down here.” He smiled as he slid two fingers into Drift’s valve, pleased to find him more than ready. But he did always want to make sure- he was big for his frame size, and despite Drift’s insistence that he could absolutely handle it, Ratchet was still a medic, and as such he liked to be doubly certain. “You feel so good. You know that?”

As for Drift, he was biting down on his bottom lip, hips rocking against Ratchet’s hand as those fingers gently moved in and out of him, occasionally scissoring to test. “Mmmh, you say that all the time. I think… I think I could get a better idea if you were in me right now… don’t you…?”

Ratchet’s whole frame shuddered, and he couldn’t have stopped his own modesty paneling from transforming back if he tried, spike pressurizing rapidly and nudging against the back of his own hand. Withdrawing his fingers, and enjoying the whimper Drift gave at being left empty, he situated himself back slightly and drew Drift forward.

Drift needed no further coaxing. Settling on his knees, he reached down to brush his fingers along the top of the medic’s spike, carefully angling it before sinking down, a full body groan leaving him as the head slipped inside. Normally, he would have let himself drop, but this morning he planned on taking his time, slowly sliding himself down Ratchet’s girth before lifting himself and lowering again.

By now, Ratchet’s hands had found his hips. Not to restrain him, but instead to guide him, groaning softly as Drift took his time. Slowly, he began to pick up the pace, until - with Ratchet’s guidance - he was bouncing on his spike in earnest, moaning and crying out each time the medic filled him completely.

Every ripple of the speedster’s calipers around his spike caused Ratchet to shudder faintly, and after a time he tightened his grip, holding Drift against him with his spike pressed up against his ceiling node. His conjunx whimpered and shifted as Ratchet gently rocked up his own hips, watching how Drift’s face changed, head dropped back and mouth open as his fans roared, plating flared and gasping to help pull in some needed cool air.

He was absolutely beautiful.

Giving his hips a squeeze, he released his grip, hand instead moving to where Drift’s spike had pressurized, wrapping his hand around it to stroke along the length as he began to move again. He knew he was close, and from the sounds Drift was making, he was too. Smiling, he ran his thumb along the tip of his spike and gave it a gentle squeeze, rocking his hips up once hard in time with one of Drift’s downward thrusts.

The combination of stimuli, from Ratchet’s spike head hitting his ceiling node sharply as he came down to the pressure and touch from Ratchet’s hand on his spike, was Drift’s undoing. His back bowed as he overloaded, crying his pleasure to the ceiling as his spike splashed transfluid onto his own frame and Ratchet’s hand. Moments later, Ratchet followed him into overload, releasing Drift’s spike to wrap his arms around him and pull him close instead, kissing his neck as his spike filled Drift with his own transfluid.

When the initial overload had passed, Ratchet shifted until he was laying on his back with Drift on top of him, spike still inside his conjunx. The speedster was panting, smiling as he let his hands wander over whatever he could reach of the medic. “Well. That’s... a good morning if I ever had one.”

Grinning, Ratchet reached down to give his aft a squeeze, delighting at the little sound Drift let out when he did. “Oh, it’s a very good morning… but it’s still early. And I think we can make it even better. Up for round two?”

From the way Drift lifted his head to look at him, expression bright and hungry, he already had his answer.


End file.
